The Cartel

by A. K. Alexander

  As they walked into the candlelit restaurant, mouth-watering aromas teased their taste buds. Antonio approached the maitre de to ask if Bella had arrived. Finding she hadn’t, they made their way into the bar near the main room of the restaurant to wait for her.

  Not long after taking their seats at a cocktail table, Bella arrived. Although disheveled from wind and drizzle, she still appeared as feminine and pretty as ever.

  If anyone should be a model, Rosa thought, it should be Bella. However, Bella did not possess the height and trendy beauty her sister Felicia had. Bella was beautiful in both an exotic and classic way. Her green eyes and dark looks made her exotic, but the elegant bone structure of her face gave her a classic look, the kind even age couldn’t diminish.

  “Hello,” she greeted them breathlessly. “It’s so good to see all of you.” She kissed each on the cheek as they stood to greet her. “I’m so sorry I’ve gotten you wet,” she said to Antonio, holding out her raincoat. The maitre de walked over.

  “May I?” he asked.

  She handed her raincoat to the man who asked if they’d like to be seated in the dining room. Antonio nodded and they all followed him into the restaurant.

  Antonio laughed. “No need to apologize.” He held out a chair for her.

  “Thank you,” she replied. “Tell me, what is new with all of you?”

  Immediately, Felicia answered, “I’m going to start modeling.”

  “Really?” Bella inquired, smiling knowingly at Rosa.

  “Yes, haven’t you heard? She’s going to color her hair blonde and become the next Cheryl Tiegs,” Rosa teased.

  “Shut up. You’re jealous. You wish you were me. All you do is waste your time drawing your stupid pictures.”

  “Girls,” Antonio warned.

  “How is your art coming along, Rosa?” Bella asked.

  “It’s wonderful. She draws and paints such beautiful pieces of work, it never ceases to amaze me,” Antonio said.

  “I’d really like to see some of them. You know, my horse trainer has a friend who is an art dealer. Maybe I could put you in contact with him.”

  “Oh, no, Bella you don’t have to do that,” Rosa protested. She shyly looked down at the hors’ d’oeuvres the waiter placed before them.

  “Why not? I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Antonio said.

  “Don’t be silly, Papa, my art isn’t nearly good enough yet to be seen by an art dealer.”

  “Now there you go again, doubting yourself. Your art is magnificent. If Bella can help, then let her.”

  “He’s right Rosa. I’m sure your art is very promising. I’d love to help in any way that I can.”

  “Well, all right, thank you, Bella,” Rosa whispered.

  She could not help but remember the words her demon uncle had spoken to her years ago, the words that echoed in her mind the whole time he’d committed his sins against her: You will never be anything, Rosa. Only a mute child. And if you ever tell anyone about our private meetings, I will see to it that everything you’ve ever loved will be destroyed, everything.

  It was that same day Rosa saw him playing with her sister Felicia’s hair in the courtyard. He’d glared at Rosa, but she’d vowed to protect her sister from harm, and thus far she had. Now Felicia was grown, and Rosa felt certain Emilio had never harmed her. He’d started leaving Rosa alone as well, once she turned fifteen. There had been no explanation, and she certainly didn’t ask. She had been enormously grateful she no longer received his unwanted attention.

  “Wonderful, I’ll speak to Jean Luc about it tomorrow. He’ll talk to Pierre, and see if we can’t set something up for you.”

  Rosa was elated about the idea of a real art dealer seeing some of her work, but her self-doubt still plagued her, and U

  “Tell us, word has it that you’ll be heading for the Olympics,” Antonio said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Bella replied. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Come on, tell the truth.”

  “Well maybe in a couple of years to Barcelona. I hope.” She held up crossed fingers. “I have an important trial next month in Italy, and Jean Luc says there’s a good possibility I could actually make the French team if Delilah and I have a good go.”

  “That’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I think we’ll have to make a special trip to come and see you and cheer you on. Your father will be here, won’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” Bella paused, picking at her chateaubriand with her fork.

  “Of course he’ll be here. I know how proud he is of you, Bella. He wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “I really don’t think he’ll be here. I wrote him a letter telling him about it. When he didn’t write or call me back, I figured he couldn’t be here. I finally called him yesterday, and Carlotta said he wasn’t in. I asked her if she knew whether or not they were coming. She said that they couldn’t because they were going to visit Stefan in Texas. I think he has a soccer tournament going on with his school.”

  “I can’t believe your father would choose to go to Stefan’s tournament, instead of seeing you in a major horse trials, young lady. In fact, if I know your papa, he would bring Stefan along. Your brother would want to see you, too. It’s too important for them to miss.”

  “I mentioned that to Carlotta, but she said the teachers at the school had told her that the soccer matches were really important to Stefan’s self-esteem. How could I argue with that? He’s such a sweet little boy, and he is my brother. I believe anything that would help him is all for good.”

  After they’d finished dinner, Antonio sat back in his chair and pulled a cigar from a long silver tube in his coat pocket. He mulled over Bella’s story. Something didn’t sound quite right. He doubted Javier would miss such an important event in Bella’s life. He would make an appointment to visit him when they returned, and find out the truth. Antonio suspected that Carlotta was behind this slight. He hadn’t liked the woman from the beginning, when she had been so unscrupulous about sending Miguel and Bella away. He hated the way Javier allowed her to control his life like that. Thinking about this made him recall Marta’s attempt to control his own life, as the girls chatted on about horses, modeling, and art. Antonio tried to convince himself over the years that he was happy Marta left after her attempting to make him change his ways. What a fool she was for leaving him. He would’ve given her everything she’d ever wanted. It angered Antonio that he hadn’t even been allowed to raise his own son. However, it was clear to him that it had all worked out for the best. But how sad that his daughters suffered so much at that time, especially Rosa. Springing Marta and Alejandro on them might have caused them irreparable harm. Yet his heart still ached for them both. He wondered how they were and what they were lives were like now.

  “Papa, are you listening?” Felicia needled him.

  “Hmmm, what? I’m sorry. Guess I’m a little tired.”

  “Bella was saying that she’d get us a box at the trials if she could.”

  “That would be fantastic.”

  “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll talk to Jean Luc and see what he can do.”

  “Excellent. We will definitely be there to see you win, then to go on for the gold at the Olympics in Barcelona!”

  Bella squirmed in her seat. “I think you’re assuming a great deal, Godfather.”

  “Don’t be silly. You will certainly win the gold, I can promise you that.” He tapped his finger on the table to make his point.

  The waiter came by and took their dessert orders.

  “Oh, no, thank you. I’m watching my figure,” Felicia gushed.

  Rosa rolled her eyes at Bella, who couldn’t help giggling. Felicia shot the two of them a sharp glance. Antonio watched, amused by his grown daughters acting like children.

  “Nonsense,” Antonio said. “We’ll all have the crepes Suzette, please.”

  *****

  “For someone who had no desire to eat dessert, you nearly licked the plate clean,”
Rosa remarked teasingly to her sister.

  “I have a right. At least I don’t look like a cow.”

  “Stop it,” Antonio demanded.

  Rosa was far from being a cow. Bella couldn’t help noticing that she’d turned into a pretty young woman. She wasn’t beautiful, exactly, but she was certainly no cow. Neither as tall as her sister nor as petite as she was, Rosa had been gifted with deep, dark eyes, framed by long, thick lashes. But it wasn’t the dark hue that made her eyes stand out. Bella always thought there was a sadness in Rosa’s eyes, as if some dark secret dwelled within them. Bella assumed that this tinge of sadness was caused by the death of her mother. But as time wore on, her instincts told her that her friend yearned for lost pieces of a life she never truly enjoyed. Bella recalled those years when she and Rosa would play together as being dismally quiet. Rosa had forgotten to be a child. Looking at her across the dinner table, Bella was certain that the sadness in her eyes ached for those lost years.

  “I hate to eat and run...” Bella started up.

  “Then don’t,” Antonio replied.

  “I have to. We have a curfew at our school. I had to get special permission to come here as it is.”

  “All right, if you must. But we’ll see you again before we leave.”

  “Definitely. I’ll talk to Jean Luc first thing tomorrow about your art, Rosa, and also about getting all of you a box for the trials.”

  “Grand,” Antonio said.

  They all stood up to kiss her good bye. Bella had a knack for spreading good will among people. She left them sitting in the restaurant, finishing their espressos, feeling as happy about seeing her as she had been about seeing them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The woman’s dreams haunted her again: ghoulish, distorted images holding her down while she screams and pleads for her life, but no one helps her. She can’t see who the people are. All she knows is, they are evil, and all she sees in the nightmares are her face horrified that anyone would torture her in this way. Through it all, the only thing she can do is watch it unfold, nothing escaping her lips but whispered, weak whimpers.

  Finally, she is being shaken back into reality. As her eyes slowly open, she realizes once more that the nightmare is over. Before her stands the Mother Superior, the nun’s kind, worried eyes staring down at her on her small cot.

  “Wake up, child,” the older woman said in a soft voice. “You’re only dreaming. Remember? You’re safe here.”

  The woman knew the words Mother spoke were true. The convent and church were her safe haven and the place where she earned her living as a cook. For her to leave now and return home would mean nothing less than total destruction.

  Drowsily, the woman the nuns called Susanna sat up, trying to smile at the mother superior who’d treated her better than anyone she could remember.

  “Oh, my girl, I wish you didn’t have those awful dreams.”

  “I’m all right, Mother. Please don’t worry,” Susanna replied, her hands shaking. “Please, I am fine. I’ll wash up and make my way to the kitchen.”

  The older woman frowned.

  “One day we must talk about what it is that chases you like a demon and tries to possess you so.”

  Susanna nodded. Mother Superior turned and walked from the room. Susanna knew there would never come a day when she could speak of the demons haunting her. To speak of them would bring back the past and so much of it Susanna couldn’t remember, and knew in her soul that she didn’t want to remember. To recount and remember the past would mean certain death for Susanna. No, Susanna liked it here in the convent in this small village in central Mexico where she could live her days in peace with the past buried, and where no one ever asked her, her real name.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Alex didn’t return home that entire night. Marta worried herself sick. She knew her son was hurting, and all she wanted to do was to find him. In the morning, she’d traveled throughout her neighborhood, trying to hunt him down. She hoped he would get over his anger soon, forgive her for not having years ago told him about his father, and for not taking him home. All she wanted was to talk to him, to try to make him understand why she’d done what she had to do.

  She stopped by the corner market to get a soda and ask the grocer if he’d seen Alex anywhere. When he told her he hadn’t, her sense of desperation deepened.

  He'll come home today. He's a good boy. He's hurting right now, that's all, she kept telling herself, trying to take comfort from these thoughts. She looked down at a picture of him she'd taken from her wallet from his twelfth birthday party, and he was smiling, holding up the football she’d bought for him. He was so happy then. He's such a special boy. I have to get him away from selling drugs.

  She was jolted out of these thoughts by the shrill screeching of brakes. The next few moments were nothing but a blur. Loud popping noises of gunfire sprayed the street, as a reckless blue Chevy halted in front of the market place. Marta stood in disbelief witnessing the atrocity. She saw a young boy hit the ground, the bullets tearing through him. Running to help, she heard one last shot. A teenager lurched out of the way of the bullet. The victim it captured was Marta. Time slipped into slow motion. She felt no real pain as she reached for her chest, the warmth of seeping blood covering her hands. The people, the street noises, her life spiraled into a motionless blur, as she sensed her life draining from her. Her son’s face, his sweet sounding voice—his essence surrounded her. She needed him to know that she loved him. She could not leave him. Not like this! He needed her. Damn God for this. Damn Him! And although she cursed God knowing that she would never again hold her son in her arms, an incandescent peace draped over her—a warmth so brilliant that her desire to allow it to take over her entire body soon outweighed her need to remain on Earth and be Alejandro’s mother.

  ****

  Alex had heard the screeching tires, the gunshots and had been watching from an empty warehouse window at his mother all morning searching for him, still sulking and angry with her. He’d almost come down twice, but his anger hadn’t subsided enough to talk to her. With those first round of gunshots he dashed out of the building to protect her, but he was too late.

  Now she lay dying in his arms. Tears streamed down his face. “No, Mama. No,” he sobbed.

  She reached up with the palm of her hand and stroked his face, “I’m sorry, so sorry. She gasped for air. “I love you, Mijo,” she struggled to say. Her body shuttered and then without any fight left went limp against her son.

  “No! Mama! No! No!” Alex screamed as the only secure world he had ever known left him. He cradled her body, rocking her back and forth as she’d done with him for so many years. His entire being frantically willed her body to return to life, but she didn’t move. His loving mother was gone.

  *****

  The day that Marta was buried was a typical Southern California day—warm and hazy. The funeral was attended only by Elisa, her family and a few of Marta’s friends. Hector stood next to Alex, who hadn't uttered more than two words since his mother's death.

  He couldn't believe she was gone. She was the only person in his life who truly loved and accepted him. She was loving, kind, and always understanding. She did everything for him. Listening to the priest, he heard him talk about what a good lady and mother she'd been. Images danced in Alex’s mind of his mom playing with him when he was a small boy, kissing him and holding him when he felt hurt or sick. She’d stood by him no matter what, even when he wanted to change schools because the white kids had teased him so bad. He was so afraid of letting her down, but she’d soothe him and tell him whatever he needed to hear to make him happy.

  And then the last night that he saw her alive, when she told him about his father, he’d been so angry and unforgiving. “Mama, please know I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Forgive me, please forgive me,” Alex whispered, tears rolling down his face onto his black suit sleeves. He didn't bother to wipe them away.

  In despair Alex cried o
ut as her coffin was lowered into the grave. "No, Mama! No, don't go. No!" He stepped forward and put his hands on the coffin, shaking his head, his body trembling. Several people tried to ease his pain by talking to him, asking him to let her go that she was now in a better place. The pain remained hot and paralyzing. The priest laid a hand on Alex and allowed him grieve over his mother until he’d exhausted himself. Then more loving hands quietly lifted him and walked him away from his mother’s grave.